


so slowly a sunlit dream pulls me out of sleep

by Bookish_penguin



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley as Raphael, Hurt/Comfort, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Light Angst, M/M, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Wings, anxiety mention, evil gabriel (sorry), is this a self indulgent fic?? probably, lots of comfort, soft Crowley, some fluff to make up for the angst, tw: minor blood & violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-11-26 21:57:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20937392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bookish_penguin/pseuds/Bookish_penguin
Summary: Aziraphale has a nightmare. Only, he doesn't know what nightmares are. Crowley soothes him, and shows him how to dream.





	so slowly a sunlit dream pulls me out of sleep

Heaven was not at peace that day. The sky was aflame, crimson and furious, raining destruction upon them all. Bloodcurdling screams have become such a constant din in the background that Aziraphale no longer heard them. He kept his head high, hands posed over his sword. He did not blink. Did not breathe. Did not think. He did only do what he was commanded to, which was to stand guard by an Archangel’s side. 

They stood in the shelter of a temple, high up and away from the fight. The plaza down below was a pandemonium of angels clashing left and right. Some filled the air with vicious cries, displaying their valiance in battle with swords drawn and their opponents at their mercy. Others howled up to the fractured, blood-red sky, begging for redemption. Aziraphale wondered why they bothered. There was no going back from rebelling against Heaven itself; Heaven does not forgive transgressors. Only a single fate awaited them now. 

As if on cue, Gabriel implored, “Chain their wings! Strip them of their grace! This is a warning to those who dare go against Heaven, who dare oppose the Great Plan.”

“Please! No! _ No— _Brother please!” An angel begged. Their wings and wrists were bound by heavy chains. “I repent! I repent, I’ll do anything, anything at all—”

A guard silenced them with a heavy blow to their midriff. With a choked cry, the angel was knocked to the ground. They rolled, loose chains rattling, stilling right against the edge where the incomprehensible void resided. The clouds Down Below were a malevolent shade of grey. Lightning flashed behind those dark wisps. Thunder rolled like the calling of a great, ravenous beast.

“_ Please.” _ Their eyes were wide. Terrified. Forsaken.

“May your sins be forgiven,” the guard said, before swiftly kicking them over the edge. 

Their screams could be heard all the way down. 

Aziraphale’s skin crawled. But like the other angels, he did not make a sound. It was deathly silence in the plaza, save for the crackle of thunder behind swollen clouds. 

Gabriel scoffed. He turned his back with a swish of his pristine white robes, and waved a dismissive hand. “Do the same to the rest.” 

Aziraphale made to follow him. He froze on the spot however, when a single, enraged voice hollered out from the plaza. Utterly incensed, the fury in that indignant voice burned and scalded hotter than the sun, and yet there was despair there, broken and alone, like that of a dying star growing cold. 

“Bastards. All of you!”

Gabriel’s lips twisted into a black scowl. He whirled and stormed back to the edge of the stairs, freezing indigo eyes furiously searching through the crowd. “Who said that?” 

“I did!” An Archangel in chains hissed. Their hair, red as brilliant flames, billowed up around his head and halo, outlined by gold celestial light. Aziraphale’s breath hitched in his throat. He could not look away, even if he had been commanded to. “You’re a proper bastard alright. Want me to Fall? Try and catch me first!” 

Wings—black as the universe before the creation of light—burst out from the Archangel’s back. His chains shattered. The broken links struck the ground, studded with ebony feathers. Great winds plowed through the plaza from the massive beats of those great wings. No guards could touch him. The archangel had lifted high up into the air, imploring everyone still with the intensity of his star-gold eyes. He then took off into the distance without once looking back. 

Gabriel set his jaw. “Aziraphale.” 

“Yes.” He leapt to attention, dropping into a kneel before Gabriel. 

“Kill him.” 

Aziraphale spread his white wings, and with a running start off the temple ground, he leapt into the air effortlessly after his runaway target. The flaming sword was already brandished in his hand, point first. He knew it would meet its mark. In all his years of service as a warrior and Principality, he had never lost a fight. It was beneath him. He could not return without ichor on his blade, and would never dream of it. 

Already wounded by a large gash across his shoulder, the Archangel did not fly fast. Aziraphale swiftly caught up to him. He veered sideways and the two of them fell, rolling across the dust and debris in a tangle of clawing limbs and wings. Aziraphale came up top. He pinned the Archangel fully still, swinging the point of his sword right against the curve of his neck. 

His lashes fluttered. Stardust blew loose from them, as did tears, which rolled down the sides of his face. “A...Angel?” 

Aziraphale’s blood ran cold. His lips shaped a name before he could fathom what it even was, but even then his mind whited out again and his grasp on his sword returned back to unwavering. 

“Aziraphale, I—” the tears didn’t stop. They caught against Aziraphale’s skin and he all but recoiled from the shock of it. “I’m scared!” 

His sword hand trembled. He wanted to drop it immediately, hurl it over the edge in fact, and take the Archangel’s face between his hands. He wanted to hold it tight and close and him even closer, till there was no space in between. What’s _ happening _ ? He didn’t know, and it was awful and so _ wrong _. 

“Stop it!” he clutched his head between his hands. Red mist clouded over his vision and before he knew it, he had slashed the angel squarely across the chest. Gold ichor splashed against his cheek. The Archangel thrashed out beneath him, but Aziraphale didn’t loosen his grip. He stumbled to his feet and dragged him right over to the edge by his collar. 

Broken gold eyes stared tearily up at him. Not angry, nor wronged, or betrayed. Only resigned. “Aziraphale...” 

Aziraphale howled and hurled him off from heaven’s ground. The Archangel’s eyes closed. His wings burned. He hugged his bloody arms to his chest, and placed his palms together in a silent prayer. Those chapped lips moved. 

They still shaped the sound of his name. 

————

Aziraphale woke up screaming. In that moment all the windows in his bedroom shattered, the bulb blew, the mirror cracked into pieces and the door swung open violently to slam against the opposing wall. 

He couldn’t breathe. It felt awful to the point whereby he forgot he didn’t need to. The pain of breathlessness was still there twisting his stomach, constricting his throat. He sanded a hand down his face and groaned. Keep it together now. Breathe, _ breathe, _ as the humans do. As Crowley taught him to. 

_ Crowley. _

The archangel’s face burned like a frightful afterimage in the dark waters of his choppy vision. 

His heart immediately plummeted. Breathe. _ Breathe _. 

Oh no. Oh god. Oh god, oh god, oh _ god— _

Aziraphale clutched his head between his hands. A powerful force of celestial energy burst out from his veins. He was in a different place at once, no longer in his bedroom, but a perfectly empty corridor where only a single door loomed before him. Unit number 666, etched in gold letters upon the black wood. 

The door swung open abruptly, making him jump. A nearby vase exploded. Aziraphale flinched, making another pot burst into smithereens. 

“Oh, good heavens,” he said miserably, curling into himself. 

“_ Angel!” _Hands were on him instantly. They hooked under his arms and lifted him up, steering him into the darkness of the house.

“You don’t sound so surprised to see me,” Aziraphale said feebly. “Were you...” he sniffed. His face felt wet all over. “Were you asleep, my dear?” 

“I was, until I felt something like the force of a small sun exploding.” Crowley hissed. “Trust me, I know. I made them.” 

Aziraphale’s heart leapt up to his throat. He grappled at the hands on his shoulders, suddenly shaking so badly that even Crowley sounded alarmed. 

“Angel? What’s wrong?” 

Every single detail of his memories crashed back to him, with a physical force enough to send him swaying. He bit down hard on his lower lip, hoping that the pain would stop its trembling. It didn’t. A sharp pang of iron burst across his tongue. 

“Oh boy. Here—couch. Sit.” Crowley gently pushed him down onto a leathery surface. “Be right back. I’ll go turn on the lights, okay?” 

Aziraphale held still and tried not to be sick. Everything smelled and tasted strangely metallic. When the lights flickered on, he squinted from the sudden brightness. 

“_ Bloody _ hell, angel!” Crowley yelled. 

Aziraphale flinched like a frightened rabbit. 

“Shit. No, no, I’m sorry. Ngh. Err.” He tousled one hand through his ginger locks. “Come here. Let’s get washed up, okay?”

“For what?” Aziraphale echoed blankly. He didn’t resist when Crowley helped him off the couch, steering him towards the bathroom. One hand was firm against his lower back and the other was supporting his arm. Aziraphale felt huddled up and safe. Some tension in his shoulders dissolved. 

Crowley hesitated by the bathroom door. “Try not to um, look in the mirror. Will you do that for me, angel?”

He burned with questions. But the sudden fatigue that hit him and left the room spinning kept him quiet for now. “Alright.” 

They passed by the mirror above the sink. Aziraphale tried his hardest not to look, he really did. He always kept his promises, especially a promise to Crowley, but his peripheral vision betrayed him. What was seen couldn’t be unseen. He stared, and stared and stared. 

Crowley’s hold tightened on his arm. “Angel...” he said helplessly, in a strangled tone of voice. 

Aziraphale was drawn towards the mirror. He put one foot in front of the other almost mindlessly, enraptured by that curious image before him. 

“No, Aziraphale. Please. It’s okay—”

He shrugged off Crowley’s touch. When he placed a hand upon his reflection and slid it down slowly, crimson blood smudged on the mirror, following the wake of his palm. It was red. Red almost everywhere. On his chin, across his cheeks, the collar of his shirt, and his _ hands _—oh lord his hands—

What has he done? 

The image of Crowley’s terrified face seemed to answer it well enough. 

A wave of nausea struck him. His spine buckled and he hunched over the sink almost involuntarily. What he coughed up came away mixed with blood. There was no lessening the horrid sick that he felt churning everywhere inside him. He wheezed and ducked his head, squeezing his eyes shut. 

A cool hand gently pushed the hair away from his face. An arm wound comfortingly round his front, holding him upright. Crowley’s endearing, minty scent draped over him like a curtain; shielding him from the world, keeping him safely hidden away. “S’okay angel. Take your time. Breathe.” 

Aziraphale’s lips twitched into a smile. He wanted to sink into the haven that was Crowley, hold him close, hoping his presence alone could make right every wrong in this world. Then every nerve in his body all screamed out simultaneously, saying that this was wrong, wrong _ wrong— _

He shoved Crowley away blindly, backing up all the way against the sink. “St—stay away from me!”

The hurt in those gold eyes tormented him far more than all his woes tonight combined. “You don’t want me here?”

“No, I…” He buried his hands into his face. The blood smeared. It was everywhere now. His sin, sticky and iron-scented, plastered all over him. “_ No _. Please leave, Crowley!”

Crowley did not. “Why?” he demanded. 

Despite it all, his heart softened. It was just like his Crowley to do this. Crowley, who always asked before he acted, who questioned even what was ineffable, who was eternally ever so very kind. 

That’s all the more reason for Aziraphale to protect him. 

“Go!” he cried, hating how Crowley’s face crumpled; at the sight of his tears, at the bite in his words. “Go away, you...you...oh.” Aziraphale sank to his knees. He bowed over and sobbed. “Please _ go _, Crowley. I’m begging you. Before I hurt you again…” 

“Hurt me?” Crowley’s voice was achingly soft. 

“This is your blood!” Aziraphale’s crimson hands trembled as he held them out. “I’m always hurting you without my knowledge. Now, and before...”

“Before?”

“In heaven, Crowley!” he shrieked. “I chased you down and slashed you with my sword—and oh my lord_ . _ ” His tears splattered onto the marble tiles like falling stars. “I threw you over. I made you _ Fall _.” 

Crowley was silent. Fearing the worst, Aziraphale bit back another sob and lowered his head to the ground. Placed his hands folded before him. “You must hate me more than anything else. Go on! Say it! Say you hate me, say you don’t want anything to do with me! Please, Crowley, _ why won’t you say anything? _”

Ten seconds. Twenty seconds. A full minute. 

And then, at last:

“Ngk.”

Aziraphale wanted to leap up and strangle him. “Surely you have more to say than that, you stupid serpent!”

Crowley, when he did speak, sounded flat-out exasperated. “I—I just, I’m speechless, Aziraphale. I mean!” He exhaled loudly. “What are you going on about? _ You _made me Fall? That’s—where’d you even get something like that from?”

“Crowley, stop.” Aziraphale pleaded. “Stop lying just to make me feel better! You were always so good at it, and—”

“Damn right I am. But I’m not lying now. Look at me. Come on, Aziraphale. Look at me. Please.”

Hands gently cradled both sides of his face. When they tilted his head up gently, Aziraphale didn’t resist. 

Crowley’s brows slanted. “Oh, angel. Look at yourself.” 

He thumbed away the tears at the corners of his eyes. Aziraphale sniffled. Crowley’s hands stilled. Instead, he leaned in to peck him on the forehead. 

“Come on up. Stop bloody kneeling already; for heaven’s sake, angel. You’ve done nothing wrong. I told you that you _ can _do no wrong, remember?” 

Aziraphale wept. Crowley pulled him up and he entered his embrace too eagerly. They leaned against the tub. Crowley wrapped his arms around him, stroking his arm, burying his nose into his hair, humming something familiar under his breath. A lullaby, for angels. Back before the earth was created and God still sang to her children. Aziraphale felt his frantic heartbeats slowing. He snuggled closer to Crowley. 

“There you are.” Crowley kissed his temple. “Listen. It wasn’t you. I wasn’t stabbed by anyone, okay? I was just hanging out with Lucifer and the guys, talking about how hip it must be to eat human food, and all of a sudden, we were all just shooting down from the clouds. Like wheeee, and all that. No swords, no fighting. Nothing.” 

“But there was a war,” he insisted. “I was under Gabriel’s command. He was the one who…” 

“Threw the rest down to the basement?” Crowley raised a brow. “Disappointed, but not surprised. I won’t know about that—I wasn’t there. I had no part in the war. Bleh. I don’t really hang around other angels, much less fight them.” 

Aziraphale stared. Crowley hummed again. He kissed the corner of his eye and stroked the length of his jaw. 

“Then why did I...see you?” he asked helplessly. 

“What were you doing before this, angel?”

“I…” It was a pain to remember. He had felt drowsy after dinner, like fleece had been stuffed in his head. Thinking that a cup of strong tea and a book would help, he must’ve settled down under the covers in his bed, and from then on… 

“I was asleep.” He couldn’t believe it. This was the first time it ever happened. 

“You were dreaming,” said Crowley patiently. “So none of it was real, see?”

“Goodness me. Then I hadn’t hurt you, my dear?”

“When you rejected me and wounded my heart, yes, maybe a little.” Crowley jabbed. Aziraphale swatted his arm lightly. He sobered up. “No, angel. Never.” 

“What’s all this, then?” He glanced down at his gory hands. 

“That’s what I want to know. Come here.” Crowley helped him him onto the edge of the tub. His face scrunched slightly as he examined Aziraphale up and down. The edge of his thumb brushed against the centre of his lower lip. He hissed in pain instantly. “Bloody hell. What did you do to yourself?”

Crowley snapped his fingers. The pain cleared away fully, leaving behind only a dull ache. He took a towel from behind the mirror and ran it under warm water. As gently as he could, he began wiping along the curves of Aziraphale’s lips. 

“That should stop the bleeding. Stay with me, I’ll finish cleaning you up, a’ight?”

Aziraphale couldn’t help a smile, as tired as he was. “Thank you, dear.”

He tilted his head up so Crowley could wipe his face more easily. Crowley occasionally pulled away to rinse the bloody rag, and it would return to his skin newly heated with hot water. Both sides of his neck were rubbed down, then his arms and his palms, even the spot between his fingers. Aziraphale’s eyes grew half-lidded. He felt like a warm coal in the hearth. 

“Comfortable?” Crowley glanced briefly up at him. 

“Mmm.” 

He held Aziraphale’s hand towards the light and cleaned the blood under his nails. It took some time. 

“Do you know,” mused Crowley, “Your hands are really...nice?”

“Are they?”

“Absolutely. Warm and soft and perfect.” He kissed his knuckles. “An angel’s hands.” 

Aziraphale cupped Crowley’s cheek fondly. He leaned eagerly into his touch, burrowing his face into his palm. A chill shot up Aziraphale’s spine. 

“Crowley…” his voice came out raspy. 

He reached down at the same time as Crowley rose up. Taking the wiry shoulders into his hands, running them up and down the slender length of his back, Aziraphale all but crushed Crowley against him as they kissed. Crowley made a muffled sound against his lips, something small and helpless. He broke away to catch his breath against Aziraphale’s collarbone. Aziraphale stroked the back of his head, letting his fingers tangle with those gorgeous auburn locks. He kissed down the side of Crowley’s neck, and his teeth scraped against the soft skin in the dip of his shoulder. Crowley jumped.

“Nghh.” His fingers dug feebly into Aziraphale’s back. 

“Sorry, my dear.” Aziraphale pecked his temple. His vision was blurring in and out of focus. Almost involuntarily, his head lowered and he ended up resting against Crowley’s chest. Underneath, his skittish heart skipped so frantically. Aziraphale wanted to laugh. He hugged Crowley closer, breathing him in, letting his own shoulders relax fully…

The bottom of the tub hit his back suddenly. He twitched but couldn’t get back up. Crowley was sprawled over him, eyes wide and cheeks flushed. “Angel?”

Aziraphale breathed in slowly. His eyelids were so heavy it was taking everything in him just to keep them open. 

Crowley somehow understood. “Come on. Let’s get you to bed.” 

With a bit of supernatural strength, he scooped Aziraphale out of the tub and kicked the bathroom door open. Aziraphale wanted to struggle free but all he managed was a short-lived wriggle. “No...Crowley, I don’t want to sleep…”

“You’re exhausted, angel.”

He was let down with his head against a pillow. The covers were pulled over him, heavy and wonderfully warm. His head lolled back. The darkness swept in fully and inevitably. The last of his senses screamed out and he startled upright with a choked gasp, clutching fistfuls of the blanket. His heart was racing awfully fast again, sending all the hurt up to his temples where a vein throbbed and throbbed. 

“I can’t!” he cried, wheezing in and out through clenched teeth. “It’s too much. Those awful dreams, dear boy, how do you even _ cope _with them?”

A cool hand brushed across his cheek in the darkness. “Shh. Lie with me.” 

Aziraphale let himself be guided back down onto the pillows. Crowley, as he promised, was right by his side. He laid close and held him closer, splaying one hand across Aziraphale’s waist. With the other, he thumbed Aziraphale’s eyes gently shut, then reached up to stroke his soft white curls. 

“Shhh,” Crowley told him. “It’ll be alright.” 

Aziraphale shook badly, despite himself. 

“It’s okay,” Crowley kept telling him. “You’re okay.”

The hands never stopped brushing through his hair. 

“I’ll meet you in your dreams. I’ll be there, wherever you are.” 

“Are you certain, my dear?” Aziraphale whispered. He nuzzled into Crowley’s chest. 

Crowley linked their hands together, letting them rest in the space between their hearts. “It’s a promise.” 

————

Heaven was still not in peace that day. Burning embers drifted from the sky, falling like rain. Aziraphale kept his sword close and his thoughts far away. Angels were crying down in the square. Chained and beaten. About to be angels no longer. Aziraphale wanted to close his eyes, but it would be conduct that would not be tolerated. Show any remorse and he might be the next one to Fall. 

“Aziraphale.” Gabriel called. 

All the muscles in his body strained to resist the command. Aziraphale knelt down by the Archangel’s side anyway. “Yes, Gabriel.” 

“You know what to do.” 

His lips trembled. Tears pricked at the corners of his doubling vision. “I...” 

He faltered. Gabriel’s piercing indigo eyes swivelled to him critically, but Aziraphale was looking elsewhere. At a single black feather. Like a snowflake, it was drifting down ever so delicately, finally coming to a rest by his pinky. 

“He will do no such thing!” someone announced ardently. They looked up towards the thunder of beating wings, black as ink and the night sky. Aziraphale’s world began to flare up in blinding colours. Molten gold. Fiery crimson. Vivid and passionate as the first sunset upon Eden. 

“Cr—Crowley?” Aziraphale stuttered. “What are you _ doing _here?”

“Raphael! What is the meaning of this?” Gabriel roared. 

“Piss off, you old buffoon,” Crowley spat at the bristling Archangel, before blocking him out of sight with a fan of his glorious wings. His eyes softened. His lips pulled up into a smile. “Up you go, angel.” 

He pulled Aziraphale to his feet. Crowley looked around at the sea of endless clouds before them, and the angels weeping down below. He looked indescribably sad. “This was what you were going through, huh? I had no idea. Bah—Let’s run away, you and me both.” 

“Where to?” Aziraphale’s wings flapped in accordance to Crowley’s, and both their feet lifted off the ground. Their hands were still joined. 

“Doesn’t matter, does it? ‘s just a dream after all.” Crowley winked. For a flash of an instant, his gold eyes turned serpentine and his flowing, vivid hair became cropped neatly around his head.

Aziraphale felt his heart lifting. He made a face at the sword in his hand before tossing it away carelessly. “I suppose you’re right.” 

Crowley laughed. He flew right up towards the sun and took Aziraphale right with him. Aziraphale yelped at first, batting the damp cloud cover from his face, but then he was laughing too—in a way he never had, within the cold confines of heaven’s walls and side to side with angels who never looked at him in the eye. 

Crowley’s cheeks were wonderfully flushed at the sound of his laughter. He mantled his wings over Aziraphale, and within that soft embrace Aziraphale cupped Crowley’s hands together and kissed them sweetly. Crowley beamed. He ghosted a hand across Aziraphale’s cheek, and then turned himself over in a loop, like a dolphin spinning above water. The momentum left him soaring across the clouds. Aziraphale raced after him, airily chasing after the wake of Crowley’s singsong laughter. All was right. All was well. 

————

In the morning light, Aziraphale awoke with a smile so silly he could only smile wider. Crowley was still sound asleep beside him. His face, half-buried in the pillows, could not hide the upward twist of his lips. Aziraphale hummed, reaching over to hold Crowley closer. 

Perhaps dreams, good ones or bad ones, weren’t so frightening after all. 

  
  
Notes:

Wrote this as a companion fic to [this ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20761259), because Azi needs some comfort too. Thanks for reading! Comments and kudos are always appreciated :) 


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